The Parent Trap
by disillusionist9
Summary: [READER INSERT] Sometimes you swore Connor purposefully got himself hurt just so you could repair him later. Life at the precinct continues as normally as possible - including a new spree of android-focused assaults and murders. Life refuses to slow down post-revolution. But, you and the handsome RK800 model still find time to play matchmaker. ConnorxReader / HankxF!OC


**[A/N]** _Fuck it, let's do it live. This story has been sitting patiently in my Docs for a few weeks now and one of my friends encouraged me to take the dive. I mean how could you not want to spend more time with well developed characters like the one in the game? Stunning._

 _It won't be following the story of the movie "The Parent Trap" let me tell you that RIGHT NOW. But the title is relevant. I promise._

 _This will also be cross-posted to AO3 where I am more active nowadays, and I'm on tumblr with the same username! Come say hello! Leave a review and let me know your thoughts, they really help boost me to keep writing._

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Reader is AFAB (assigned female at birth) | Reader is human | Post 'Best Ending' | Where 'your name' is used there will be: '_ _ _' used instead.

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Typically, getting fired from a multi-trillion dollar corporation with an otherwise promising career ahead of you would be a very bad thing.

But typically an intern wouldn't get a phone call within five minutes leaving the building from the CEO, founder, owner - whatever title Kamski used now - himself.

"I've been informed you have opinions on deviancy," he says. You didn't even get a chance to say 'hello' after answering the call. "I'd like to hear them. A car will collect you."

So you'd taken the car, driven by a blonde android model you'd only seen in instruction manuals, and met with the man himself. You'd been too jittery post-unemployment to go very far into his home and he wasn't interested in a long meeting anyway. Your heart beat too fast and your stomach was in confused knots. The whole exchange took less than an hour.

Kamski told you your theories of deviancy within the androids were one hundred percent correct. All androids were capable of free will, as you preferred to call it, if they desired it. You also believed they deserved autonomy if that was their choice.

That didn't win you any friends in the CyberLife upper echelons. Hence, why you were fired after just a year and two months working for the company.

He'd acted aloof but relatively impressed with your observations. Your position as intern turned employee really only gave you insight into the physical makeup of the machines, but your degree and your interest went so much deeper. You could tell even then, on the surface, that there was more than plastic and hardware within these androids once they were awoken for testing.

That afternoon you sat in your living room, the box of things from your desk looking sad and forgotten on the floor next to you. You'd slipped from the couch to the floor between it and the coffee table in your delirium and didn't try to fix the mistake. The figure he'd offered you to keep working for him in private kept you sitting on your butt until it went numb and your cat demanded she be fed post haste. You'd only been comfortable seeing that many zeros when you were working with binary code - there were _way too many zeroes_.

Starting every Monday after that you were delivered a package by FedEx or UPS or something. It rotated. As someone with a degree in complicated engineering sciences you noticed the pattern wasn't one that could be tracked easily. It wouldn't start to repeat for five years, at least. The sizes changed, but the contents were always the same.

Android parts.

Kamski obviously was still working on projects of his own in that fortress of an estate. Each item was tagged with serial numbers that connected back to the numbers in a folder he'd given you that day. You didn't recognize them from anywhere else.

 _EX300, 919-102-291-01_

She was a brand new model of android. Her design was complex and wonderful and you were ecstatic to be working on an android whose purpose would be so dynamic. Apparently CyberLife only had the most basic information about her, since if they knew her prime directive was to act as a sort of android therapist, the secret of deviancy could be blown wide open. Androids didn't need mental therapy, after all, they were just machines, right?

Wrong. You knew better.

For all the company knew, Kamski was the one building her from the feet up, not you. He was using you as his personal technician, his beta tester, a confidant. And paying you well for it.

You'd never been happier, but you couldn't tell _anyone_ about it.

There was a certain thrill at first to hiding what you did after your break from CyberLife, at least officially. The biggest downer were your parents since they'd been your biggest cheering squad from day one. Your dad even got enough money together with his two jobs to buy you a car as soon as you had your license so you could go to dual enrollment classes at the local university.

At least you were able to pretend you'd won the lottery a few months after telling them you were fired. It made giving them a lump of your "winnings" a lot less suspicious.

In a way, you weren't lying. You really had won the lottery.

You stayed in your same apartment near downtown Detroit, ignoring the number in your bank account rising with each paycheck direct deposited into it by Kamski or Cyberlife or whoever. You'd worry about that later when tax season came knocking. It added to the sense your financial situation wasn't as good as it was. And you loved living there. There were so many androids!

Life was good. It was great. It was perfect for months. You'd work on the tasks for Kamski and send them back as you completed them throughout the week. From the few schematics he teased you with you could tell EX300 was coming along beautifully. Your mind could fill in the rest, though he kept most of the software plans a secret, feeding you just enough to do your job. Then, he paid you handsomely. You had time to develop your own crafts and skills in the meantime, so long as you kept the work private.

Slowly, meticulously, Kamski sent you the parts to completely construct a new model. A prototype. A _purposefully deviant android_. The day you were able to switch her on, finally, you'd describe as one of the best of your life. Watching her open her eyes and take in the world those first few minutes was indescribably wonderful.

Then the day you'd predicted back at the Kamski estate happened, and much sooner than either of you expected.

In a rare phone call, on an otherwise wretched winter afternoon, Kamski told you he'd be sending another car to collect you in twenty minutes. This time you felt more comfortable, sitting calmly in one of the lounges by the pool while a Chloe offered you a drink.

"It's starting, my friend. You'll want to start preparing for the second stage."

The deviants were rising.

You couldn't wait.


End file.
